


The Four Lives of James E. Wilson

by RiverSoul



Category: A Glimpse of Hell, Dead Poets Society (1989), House M.D., Swing Kids (1993), The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Ending, Dead Poet's Society Fix It, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, So very sorry, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverSoul/pseuds/RiverSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange woman starts following Wilson. He gets suspicious but has no clue how much an encounter with this woman will change his life... and give it meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Four Lives of James E. Wilson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Wilson saw the woman for the first time when he was on his way back from the Princetone-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, where he worked as the head of oncology. He had decided to walk, for once, as the sun was shining and it was a really nice day, but had gotten hungry soon and was in a hurry to get home. So Wilson didn’t really look at the woman when she was standing next to him at the traffic lights. The only things he realized about her were her red hair, her wonderful full lips and her beauty in general. But then he walked on and forgot all about her again. Later that week, when he was doing his shopping at Tesco's, Wilson saw the woman out of the corner of his eye. He still thought it was coincidence, though, and didn’t pay her any further attention. But when he saw her again at the weekend, this time walking only a little distance behind him in the park, he became suspicious. However, a patient called at exactly that moment and he forgot about her again. 

Then, on Monday afternoon, Wilson bought a muffin at the hospital coffee shop and there she was again, standing next in line. Confused and a bit annoyed, he turned to her and asked: “Excuse me, but have you been following me?”

She just stared at him for a few moments, then said in an offhand manner: “No, of course not.”

Wilson shook his head slightly. This was embarrassing. Of course she hadn’t been following him, why would she? “I’m sorry, I must be getting paranoid,” he mumbled and rushed off.

Just the next day, however, Wilson was seeing a new patient who turned out to be no one else than the women he had seen so often recently. He didn’t know what was going on but was also a bit curious what the women, who introduced herself as Dana Scully, would have to say to him. 

“What can I do for you?,” he asked, after they had shook hands.

Scully cleared her throat and said: “Well, first of all, I have to tell you that you are not paranoid, I have been following you.” 

Wilson smiled: “I certainly think so, but why?”

“I wasn’t sure how to approach you,” Scully explained after clearing her throat again, “the story I have to tell you is kind of... strange."

“A story?,” Wilson frowned.

“Well, yes, and I wasn’t sure for a long time if I should tell you, but there really is no way around it,” the woman told him. She was staring at the table when she said that, apparently not daring to look into his face.

Wilson wondered what this was all about. What could be so bad that this woman was struggling so much to tell him? "You can tell me,” he encouraged her, “I’m a doctor, whatever you have to say will stay between you and me.”

Scully laughed. “Oh, it’s not about this,” she said, this time looking him straight into the eyes and it struck Wilson how beautiful those big blue eyes were. 

“What is it about then?,” he asked, shaking off the thought of beautiful eyes. This could be a patient, maybe suffering from a strange kind of cancer she was embarrassed about, not a women he could sexualize. 

“You might think I’m crazy,” Scully answered, “and you might not believe me. If you got any sense in you, you won’t believe me, in fact. But I still have to tell you. For my sake. Because I can't live with this knowledge anymore, even if this ‘knowledge’ is only a figment of my imagination.” Her voice was steady now and she seemed to have found some of her confidence again. 

Wilson, however, got more and more confused. “Tell me, then,” he said, “I'm curious now."

“Ok,” Scully said, taking a deep breath, “but try not to interrupt me, I have to get it all out first, then you can laugh at me.”

“I promise," Wilson smiled, "and I won't laugh. Suggest a therapist maybe, should you really need one, but I would never laugh at a patient." 

Scully smiled back, visibly thankful for the lightness of his tone. “The story started when I was really little," she began, than stopped again, seeming confused, "Well, not only I was little, but the ‘me’ in my dreams was too.”

“Dreams?,” Wilson asked, even though he had promised not to interrupt.

“Well, yes,” Scully explained, “I’ve been having those dreams… anyway, in the first I was really little, five maybe. That was the first time I’ve seen you.”

Wilson frowned again. “You’ve seen me in your dreams?” Whatever he had expected, he hadn't expected this. Was this woman a secret - and not very sane - admirer? But then she seemed so sensible otherwise…

“Yes, and I know!,” Scully suddenly burst out, “I know why you are so lonely, why there is something missing in your life!” 

Wilson’s frown deepened. So much for sanity. But he went with it, for the moment: “What is missing in my life, then?”

Scully frowned too, at herself maybe: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you like that. And I know you don’t believe me. But I can prove it to you. You played Oberon in college, didn't you, from Midsummer Night’s Dream?"

“Yes, but…,” Wilson started. He really didn’t understand what this had to do with him missing something in his life, neither did he know how this woman could know about him playing Oberon.

“You thought about playing Puck, but you didn’t, in the end, did you?," Scully interrupted.

“How do you know about all this?,” Wilson asked back. 

“You don’t have to answer the question, I know it’s true” the woman said, “because this time you chose not to play Puck. But what if I told you that there isn’t just one life and that you have lived before, and that in this other life you have chosen Puck? And that you have lived yet another time before that, in which you have even identified yourself with Puck? And that, finally, there was a life in which you identified so much with Puck and in which you wanted to become an actor so much, that your life didn’t make any without it?”

Wilson stared at Scully. This was getting more than strange. He was pretty sure that he didn’t even know the words to describe this situation. He didn’t know either if the woman wanted him to answer those questions. 

But Scully had already continued talking: “And what if I told you,” she asked, “that for some reason you couldn’t become an actor, even though you wanted to and your life became so pointless because of it that you finally... killed yourself?" She took a breath, having fired the questions at him in rapid speed.

“But I am not dead,” Wilson said, trying to sound calm. This woman obviously had a mental problem and it wouldn’t do any good to upset her. 

“No,” Scully said, then she laughed. "You are not dead. I was afraid I had lost you when you got cancer, but you’re all right, you are fine…”

“Wait a moment,” Wilson interrupted, “How do you know all of this?” Slowly he was getting really worried. Had this woman been stalking him?

“Sorry,” Scully said again, “I should have started from the beginning. But I will tell you now, one thing after the other.”

“Alright,” Wilson said, cautious now, “So you have had dreams about me?”

“Yes,” Scully said, “and at first I thought they were dreams, nothing else. I’ve seen you in a play and I admired you. I was five. My mother worked as a maid for your parents. You were in my dreams almost every night. I thought maybe it was my subconscious trying to tell me something, but I didn’t worry too much about it, I mainly just enjoyed those dreams. Then there was that night…” She took a deep breath again, obviously having difficulty continuing to talk.

“What happened that night?,” Wilson encouraged her.

“I heard your father shouting,” Scully went on, “something about law school. I sneaked out to see what was going on. My mother and I were living in a little hut on your parent's estate, you see. Anyway, it had just snowed and even though it was already dark, it was very peaceful. Your father had stopped shouting and you were standing at your window. I could see you, but I’m not sure you could see me. You were only wearing your pyjama bottoms and the crone from your costume. You know, the one with the thorns? Even though I couldn’t see your face I knew there was something wrong. You looked so lost, so forlorn... I just knew something terrible was about to happen, but I didn't know what, maybe I was too little to understand... Then you turned and went inside your house somewhere. I was standing there, frozen for a moment. Then I realized I had to follow you. I just had to. But I was too slow, and by the time I got to the front door of your house, the screaming had already started. It was your mother who was screaming, I think, but this didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was that you were dead. And I knew that you were. The moment I heard your mother’s scream, I knew. I didn’t know how and why – I found that out much later – but I knew you were dead, that you would never come back.” 

Scully stopped at that. Wilson saw she had tears in her eyes. Her story was crazy, of course, but there was something about it, something which was nagging him, as if the story had reminded him of something which he couldn't quite catch. So he asked: "And what happened then? Did you dream about me again?"

“Yes,” Scully told him, “I dreamt about your funeral, how your parents made it all sound like an accident, when you had actually killed yourself because you couldn’t live with the thought of going to law school instead of becoming an actor. And then, after that, I didn’t dream for a while. When I dreamt about you again, I was older, maybe 16. You were 17. We were in Germany, 1945. American music was forbidden, but you were still dancing…”

For some reason, this made Wilson smile. He had gone to rock'n'roll classes when he was in college and he had loved it. "What was I dancing?," he asked Scully.

“Swing,” she answered, now smiling too, “always swing. You went to secret dance halls with your friends, you danced and danced and you looked great doing it, so happy, so alive. You were the king of Harlem." Scully almost sounded like she was revelling in real memories, even though this had never happened. 

“Did I dance with you too?," Wilson asked, amused now. He really liked the picture, even if it was only a dream. 

“Oh yes,” Scully said, “not all the time, we didn't really have fixed partners, but you actually danced with me quite often. One time I was wearing a new skirt and I asked you how I looked, I was quite eager to know how you liked it, you see..."

“What did I answer?,” Wilson asked.

“’Like gold’", Scully said. 

Wilson swallowed. He could quite imagine saying this to her. “So,” he asked to hide his embarrassment, “did we date then?”

“Oh, no,” Scully said, her expression darkening, "we didn't get to that. You would have asked me maybe, but then your friend killed himself and the dance hall was shut down."

“Really?,” Wilson asked, suddenly upset, “So everybody kills themselves, is that it? Did I kill myself too, this time?”

Scully shook her head. “No, but maybe this would have been better. You lived to see your best friend die because he was a Jew, and to see the dance halls close, and you became reckless. Almost as if you didn't care anymore. You stole this radio and you were eventually caught with forbidden records. That’s when they took you, but your soul had died much earlier. You didn’t want to live in a cruel world like that, a world which forbade you to dance and which killed your friends.”

“What do you mean, they took me?,” Wilson asked. He could really feel for this version of him now. 

“You died in one of the Nazi’s concentration camps,” Scully explained, her eyes sad again, “it was almost as if you weren’t meant to live.” 

“But how is it I don’t remember this, then?," Wilson asked and it almost seemed to him that this was a sensible question. 

“Maybe you couldn’t take it,” Scully said, “maybe your soul couldn’t take it to remember death. And it wasn’t the last time I saw you, at any rate. The next time we were almost the same age, both 30. You were the captain of a ship and I was a sailor.”

It was obvious to Wilson what had to happen next: “And then I died again, right?”

“I’ll come to that,” Scully said, “Another sailor got killed and it turned out he was gay. You helped investigating his death, but this wasn't what killed you. Homosexuality was still illegal back then, but even though everybody suspected you were gay too, your men were loyal to you and didn’t try to put you into prison. There was an accident, though, a horrible accident and your ship sank. Most of the men got out in time, but I was stuck… you died saving my life.” 

“I did…,” Wilson started, but then interrupted himself: “So you were a man, did I understand that right?”

“Yes,” Scully said, ”but it didn’t matter, really. Not to you and not to me. We just talked sometimes, all night long, looking at the stars, and you told me how you played Puck in college once…” 

“Thou speak'st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile. When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, neighing in likeness of a filly foal…,” Wilson interrupted her.

Scully’s eyes suddenly lit up. “You remember!,” she exclaimed.

“I did read Shakespeare, yes,” Wilson answered drily. But those words had stirred something in his soul. Something long-forgotten. “How does it continue?,” he mused, “Ah, yes: 

And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,   
In very likeness of a roasted crab,   
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob   
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.   
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,   
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;   
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,   
And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;   
And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,   
And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear   
A merrier hour was never wasted there.  
But, room, fairy! Here comes Oberon.”

Scully had stared at him in breathless wonder, while he had recited those lines. When he had finished, she clapped her hands and laughed, just like a little kid. 

Just like the little kid she had been. “You smiled,” Wilson said, in wonder. “You smiled at me and I wondered… no not really wondered, I kind of knew I would wait for you, if that’s what it takes. That when you were old enough, you would be beautiful, the most beautiful woman I would ever know and I would marry you…”

Scully’s eyes widened. “So you do…?”

“Wait," Wilson interrupted her, "there is more. I was an actor. I didn't know enough for it, I hadn't learnt enough, but in my heart I already was one. And I was good at it! I was so good at it, it was my life. And when it was taken from me, all of my hopes were shattered, I couldn’t take it…”

“Did you see me?,” Scully asked, “Did you see me in the night?”

“I did see you,” Wilson answered, “but I didn’t know it was you, or I didn’t care, I’m not sure which. I looked out of the window and there was this creature in white, like an angel. It was… you were hope, but I had given up on hope. It wasn't… you weren’t enough, but it wasn’t your fault, you could never be enough. Not when I didn’t have acting.”

“Or dancing,” Scully threw in.

“Yes,” Wilson smiled, “I remember dancing. I was free when I was dancing, free like the wind. The world went away when I danced. And even when my friend died… I could have lived if I could at least have danced."

“Why didn’t you kiss me?,” Scully asked, “I was so sure you would kiss me that night.”

“Cause I was shy,” Wilson explained, “not when I danced, I could do everything when I danced, but at heart I was shy. I wanted to, though. The next time I would have seen you, I probably would have. I have dreamed about you…” Suddenly, Wilson couldn’t go on.

“You have?”, Scully asked and he could see the tears in her eyes. 

“I have,” he said, "Often, when I was still dancing and every night when I couldn’t anymore. After they… took me. Through all the pain, through all the suffering, you were always there, you were always with me, I never forgot you.”

“Did you wait for me then?”, Scully asked, suppressing a sob, “Cause I waited for you, you know. I waited for you to come back.”

“I waited for you,” Wilson said, “I didn’t know you, really, I didn’t know who you were, but I was always waiting for you.” A single tear ran down his cheek. "Even then, as a captain, living without you seemed harder for me than dying. Death was nothing..."

“But it must have hurt!,” Scully interrupted, “It must have heard so much, that every time, in every life, you moved a bit further away from Puck, that you chose Oberon instead, that you chose to become a doctor instead of an actor."

Wilson nodded. “I must have buried my dream. Subconsciously, if nothing else. But becoming a doctor was a dream of me too, you know. I saw House and I saw how brilliant he was and I wasn’t… that. But even if I wasn't that brilliant, all I could think of was that there must be at least something I could do to help people, to make their suffering less... Even if I couldn’t heal my patients’ cancer, I wanted them to know that they were not alone, that if no one else would go with them until the end, I would.”

“Because you know death,” Scully nodded, “because you know what it’s like to suffer and not being able to do anything but waiting for death.” 

Wilson nodded. “I guess so, I guess that’s why I am kind of good at what I’m doing, but there was always something missing. I’ve looked for it in women, oh God all those women…” He threw his hands over his face, as if hiding from her. It was all so clear now, how could he not have seen?

“It’s ok,” Scully said, carefully pulling his hands away from his face, “I forgive you, if that’s what you want. I would have had many men too, if I had the chance, I just couldn't..."

“But it was always you!”, Wilson suddenly shouted, “How could I have not seen this? I married and married and I threw my life away for those women! All those years and I didn’t even think to look for you…” His voice broke. Tears were running down his face.

“It’s alright,” Dana said, taking him into her arms. “Really, it’s alright… we couldn’t have acted any different,” she whispered into his ear while holding him awkwardly over the table, “You didn’t remember and I… I dreamt about you with cancer and then the dreams just… stopped.” She was crying too now, burrowing her head in his neck. 

Wilson sobbed. “It’s not alright, how can you say it’s alright I…”

“Shush,” Scully whispered, “I found you now…”

“I love you!”, Wilson shouted, suddenly tearing himself away from her, then more quiet: “I love you and I always will. I will never lose you again, I promise.”

“I love you too,” Scully said, “and you better not die on me again, you fool.”  
Wilson laughed and wiped away his tears: “I won’t, I promise.”

Scully softly stroked his cheek. “You beautiful man, how could I have ever lived without you?”

Again Wilson laughed, but only until Scully caught him off with a kiss.

Scully’s lips were soft and felt just like he had imagined them… just like he remembered them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is where Puck's lines are from (line 410-425): http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=midsummer&Act=2&Scene=1&Scope=scene&LineHighlight=410#410
> 
>  
> 
> You can find all of Puck's lines in Midsummer Night's Dream here: http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/characters/charlines.php?CharID=Puck&WorkID=midsummer


End file.
